


tell me something interesting

by fyborg23



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Jealously, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Threesomes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyborg23/pseuds/fyborg23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PK smirked. Shrugged his broad shoulders, which was a feat, considering Carey's hands were fucking tight around his wrists. PK ground his hips between Carey's thighs, "You know you're the only one for me," which was accompanied by PK licking his lips.</p><p>Carey leaned closer, seeing PK's eyelashes flutter in the low light, and said, "Tell me about fucking the kid."</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me something interesting

**Author's Note:**

> If you found this by googling yourself or anyone you know, turn back. Some things cannot be unseen. 
> 
> I blame the combination of the many pictures of the Habs, and PK's willingness to get very close to his teammates. My thanks to my tumblr followers, who watched me fail and flail about this fic for... a month now, jesus h. christ, for their forbearance. Story takes place in a nebulous timeline with the first 20 games. Mild content warnings in endnotes.

Carey slid out of his warm bed, and yanked his softly pinging mobile from his charger. The screen lit up, the stark brightness with the numbers  _03.45 am_  making Carey's eyes water.

But what the screen said:  _let me in_  – was pretty convincing. Carey typed in  _this better be good,_  and shoved his arms into a sweater.

Carey opened the door, seeing PK bundled up against the cold. Carey raised an eyebrow, and PK smirked at him, “I'm freezing my balls off. You going to let me in?” Carey stepped aside, gritting his teeth as PK let in a gust of cold air behind him. Carey pointed to the hotel bed, and PK followed, his ass straining against his sweatpants, crawling on all fours on the mattress. Carey leaned closer--

And smelled Bournival's stupid teenage body spray.

Carey narrowed his eyes, and flipped PK over, pinning PK's hands against the fake wood headboard, straddling PK's hips with his thighs. Carey leaned in, nipped at PK's lips, "You just nailed Bournival, didn't you."

PK smirked. Shrugged his broad shoulders, which was a feat, considering Carey's hands were fucking tight around his wrists. PK ground his hips between Carey's thighs, "You know you're the only one for me," which was accompanied by PK licking his lips.

Carey leaned closer, seeing PK's eyelashes flutter in the low light, and said, "Tell me about fucking the kid."

 

* * *

 

PK looks at Bournival, thinks, "was I ever that young"-- No. PK doesn't like asking questions that gets in the way of appreciating good hockey, and Bournival just scored his first goal. ( _Shameless_ , Carey interjected.) The look on Bournival's face says it all, like Christmas came three times, and he's still riding high after the game. Blue Jackets or no, a win is a win, and a goal is a goal. 

The guys order Bournival the most girly drink on the menu, some pink-and-yellow sugary alcoholic sludge topped with a cherry and one of the most suggestive names PK's had the misfortune to hear, and Bournival drinks it down in less than two minutes. He's sitting next to PK, his thigh warm against his own, sugar still on Bournival's lips--

PK wants to lick it off, bite his lips as Bournival writhes against him--

Bournival's narrow face is painted red-- embarrassment and booze and hockey glory-- as he leans closer to PK. Bournival's close enough that PK can see the small curls at the nape of Bournival's neck, close enough that PK can curl a hand around the back of his neck.

"Hey, way to go," PK says, both of his hands still on the table, one of them curled around a light beer-- PK still has a nutrition plan to stick to.

Bournival looks up at PK from his swiftly tilting perspective, through his eyelashes, and licks at his lips as he smiles in response. PK smiles back, nice and easy, and tightens his grip on his beer as he drinks from it. PK doesn't chug the beer, which is a good thing-- Bournival's hand just gripped PK's knee.

PK doesn't slam the bottle down either, just finishes the drink, and looks at Bournival.

PK has to give it to the kid, he's got guts. Bournival's hand is fast advancing towards PK's fly, and PK has to squeeze his fingers under the table before Bournival can do anything else. "Easy, yeah?"

Bournival would flush deeper, but he's already as red as it gets. He keeps looking straight at PK, though, and doesn't try to move his hand from PK's grip. 

PK doesn't laugh at the kid; Bournival seems to know what he wants, even if the obscenely-named drink may have made him totally obvious about it. So he says, in a low voice next to Bournival's pink-topped ear, "I'm going to the bathroom. See you in three." PK raises his eyebrows, smiles, "Ok?"

Bournival blinks, nods, and leans away from PK. As PK heads towards the bar restroom, he sees Bournival peeking at his mobile. The kid's going to be painfully on time, PK just *knows* it, probably just set a little timer,  and busies himself with washing his hands. Hygiene's important.

PK is such a good defenseman because he can predict what forwards do, and Bournival proves PK right by coming into the bathroom precisely three minutes later, trying to look casual but pretty much failing. PK looks him up and down-- then at the door, and kicks the wastebin underneath the door handle.

By the time PK looks back at Bournival, Bournival is against the wall, stroking his cock through his underwear and putting on a hell of a show with those pink cheeks and closed eyes. PK smirks, presses himself close against Bournival, and Bournival's hands stutter on his pants. Bournival opens his eyes, and PK kisses his jaw, strokes down Bournival's neck, says, "You good?"

Bournival almost brains himself, nodding so hard.

PK chuckles, presses Bournival's hands against the chilly tile, and rubs his thumbs against the pulse on Bournival's wrists. "Stay there," PK commands, giving Bournival's forearms one last squeeze before moving on to Bournival's exposed briefs, white against the denim of his jeans, Bournival's hard-on straining the white cloth. 

PK strokes firmly, and Bournival shudders, but doesn't move.

PK leans in, smells the cheap body wash on Bournival's warm neck, and bites lightly at it. Bournival bites his lip in response, his breath very loud and quick to PK's ears.

PK slides his hand into Bournival's underwear, feeling the hair crinkle under his fingertips, and strokes Bournival, smearing pre-come all over Bournival's cock. Bournival lifts his hips from the wall--

PK shoves his thigh in between Bournival's legs, squeezing around his cock, says, "I told you, stay there."

Bournival bites his lips harder, and PK can see the blood just under the surface. PK resumes stroking, seeing Bournival's hips twitch and his hands slip on the tile. PK rubs his thigh just right where Bournival's balls should be, and Bournival slaps a hand on his mouth, muffling a very loud moan--

PK moves his thigh higher, stroking faster, and Bournival is shaking with the effort not to move-- 

PK grips Bournival's hip with his other hand, and gives his wrist a twist around Bournival's cock, feeling his pre-come staining Bournival's underwear. PK kisses Bournival's neck, rubbing a thumb at Bournival's hip, murmurs, "That's it, that's it."

Bournival's gasp is muffled by his hand, and Bournival squeezes his eyes close as he comes hot and sticky against PK's hand--

PK keeps stroking, seeing Bournival's legs twitch with the effort of keeping Bournival upright, until Bournival bats weekly at PK's hand, "Yeah, wow." 

PK smiles, taking in Bournival's ruined underwear and the sweat tracks on his neck, and wipes his hand against the inside of Bournival's briefs, ignoring his weak protests. PK pulls Bournival's pants up, buttons him in, and pats at the fly--

Bournival arches against the wall--

"You should be getting back, Bournival, the guys want to get you another round," PK says, turning to the sink and enjoying Bournival still trying to get his breath back in the reflection of the mirror above the sink. Bournival blinks, looks hard at PK, says, "What about--?" and makes an awkward gesture in PK's direction.

PK leers, says, "Oh, don't worry about *me*, kid. Go." 

Bournival slinks out, trying to sort himself and his pants without being too obvious, and PK washes his hands, humming to himself.

 

* * *

 

Carey stared at PK, his eyes hot and dark, his hands still frozen on PK's arms. PK's arms were sore with the effort of keeping them still-- and with Carey biting the hell out of them. PK was glad the necklace of bites Carey just gave him wasn't going to be visible. The marks were throbbing in time with PK's heart-- 

"And?" Carey asked, his tone both warning and really hot to PK's ears, "You just came here, thinking I could get you off?"

PK rocked up between Carey's legs-- and Carey just squeezed his thighs closer together. PK could see Carey was rock-hard through his thin pajamas pants, and he wanted so much to pull them down, put his hands on Carey's thighs, and blow him. 

"But you know exactly what to do," PK said, goading him, wanting Carey to push back-- "How to--"

"*Handle* you?" Carey said, his smile sharp. Carey's hands were hot on him, and PK wanted to kiss him. Carey leaned closer, making PK's sweatpants slide roughly against his cock, said, "If you didn't press my buttons so *well*, I wouldn't let you press them."

PK smiled, "Just a service I offer."

"Just like Prusty?"

PK raised his eyebrows in a question.

Carey showed his teeth, "I noticed Prusty had three bruises, roughly where your fingertips would've been, oh--- about two weeks ago? In addition to the usual scratches no one talks about but we all know are from Maripier?"

PK fluttered his eyelashes in fake confusion, "Oh."

Carey's face drew in irritation, "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Tell me about fucking Prust."

 

* * *

 

Prust has those lips that would look perfect around PK's cock. And those eyes, looking up at him-- PK's totally behind *that*. Anyone can see Prust is a smokeshow.  

But PK's ok with just looking, and thinking every once in a while. PK knows he's pretty awesome, but it's really hard to compete with the lovely Maripier Morin. 

Until the lovely Maripier Morin looks him up and down over the rim of her glass at some team function everyone has to attend, and PK knows what that up-and-down look means. Or what PK hopes it means. Maripier smirks, her red lips giving her smirk more punch, and PK gives her his best smile. She sidles ( _What,_ Carey muttered,  _did you learn that from a romance novel?_ ) *sidles*, sheesh, next to PK and props her elbow up on the bar behind them. PK's not going to say anything, ladies first and all. 

"Brandon," she begins, and PK has to pause before he remembers *that's* Prusty's actual name, "has been talking about you."

"Who wouldn't talk about me?" PK waggles his eyebrows, "Best dresser on the Canadiens, and best-looking guy-- after Prusty, naturally."

"Naturally," Maripier says, drinks from her glass. Neither one says anything as people start to chirp the Gallys for being ridiculous from across the room. After the first wave of chirps finish,  PK turns back to Maripier and raises an eyebrow.

"You seem like a woman of action. So--" PK waves his hand, "What's the dish?"

"Brandon is so cute, being shy."

Brandon Prust, *shy*? PK snorts and folds his arms, leaning back against the bar top, "And what does he have to be shy about?"

Maripier raises a perfectly-plucked eyebrow, "The fact he wants to jump your bones."

PK blinks. Of all things he thought Maripier would say-- that was pretty low on the list. Maripier continues, pushing past PK's surprise, "Which I don't blame him for at all."

"Hey, you guys are cute together, I wouldn't dream of--"

"Coming between us?" Maripier smirks, clearly fully aware of the double meaning the word had in English. PK should've known that underneath that itty-bitty exterior Maripier was a live wire. "No, what I am proposing is very... simple? You," she bumps PK's arm, "with *us."

PK's mouth is dry. He forces out a chuckle, "Yeah?"

Maripier tosses her hair,  exposing her lovely neck, "Of course. I've got eyes too."

Prusty chooses this exact moment to wander over and to clap PK's shoulder with a bruising hand, craning around PK to give Maripier a small kiss. Prusty smells good-- Maripier knows how to dress a man, and Prusty benefits a shit-ton from it. 

"Hey, Maripier, hope Peeky here isn't boring you," Prusty says, with an obnoxious grin on his face that makes him look even hotter, fuck.

PK snorts, brushes Prusty's hand off his shoulder, and turns to face him, "I don't know, she told me something pretty interesting."

Prusty's face freezes. He shoots a look at Maripier, his wide eyes obviously screaming  _WHAT?_  Maripier shrugs, takes a sip from her drink, and tosses her hair back again. "Oh, don't be so surprised. What's that saying, 'shit or get off'?"

PK looks at Prusty from the corner of his eye, is amused and worried about Prusty's not-so-subtle freak out. 

"Hey, dude, if it's not your thing--" PK starts--

Prusty slings an arm around PK, puts on a toothy expression, and casts a quick look around before leaning in to whisper in PK's ear, "Our place, you know where it is?"

PK nods. 

Maripier shoots both of them a victorious look, and walks away, putting in a little extra sway in her hips. PK looks at her walk away, then turns to Prusty, "Should I bring Gatorade?"

Prusty yanks his eyes long enough from Maripier's behind to bobble his head vigorously at him, "Would be nice."

PK makes his excuses and drives to Prusty's place in record time.

He walks up to the front door with a couple bottles of Gatorade dangling from 6-pack rings in his hand. PK doesn't *even* press the doorbell before Maripier yanks the door open. PK has enough presence of mind to notice Maripier's dress is half-zipped, and her red lipstick is looking very smeared.

"PK!" Maripier sounds breathless. 

PK smirks, raises the Gatorade, asks, "Can I come in?" Maripier yanks him inside by the arm, and slams the door behind them.

Maripier strolls up to their bedroom, pulling sliders out of her hair as she goes. Prusty looks over at PK with a facial expression that translates to  _I know, I'm fucking lucky_  with a side of  _whatcha gonna do now?_. 

PK answers Prusty's challenge by undoing his tie, throwing it on the footboard of the Morin-Prusty bed. He walks over to Maripier and starts unzipping the rest of her perfectly-tailored dress. Hey, PK has manners, ok? Maripier looks back at PK over her shoulder, takes PK's hand on her warm skin, and slides it down to her him.

PK leans in-- smells roses and Prusty's deordorant-- nips at the junction between her neck and shoulder, before giving her the best kiss he can; it's not the best position in the world, but Maripier doesn't seem to mind. She hums, and wiggles back onto PK. 

Prusty runs a rough hand across the nape of PK's neck, his warm fingertips tickling the skin behind PK's ear, and whispers, "Want to see me eat her out?"

PK does.

Maripier must have excellent ears, because she spins around faster than Skinner doing a double lutz, pushes Prusty down to the bed and nearly pops every button off his shirt.

 _Nearly_ , in the sense that there's only one button dangling by a thread when Maripier tosses Prusty's shirt across the room. Maripier's straddling Prusty, and she knee-walks her way towards Prusty's jawline.

PK gets the urge to help Maripier out of her bra-- doesn't try anything fancy in taking her bra off-- that's a one-way ticket to ruined bras and pissed-off dance partners. Eye from hook, eye from hook, eye from hook, and Maripier's bra slides off her arms.

Prusty takes a moment from nuzzling Maripier's undies to take in PK palming her breasts as Maripier smirks down at Prusty and starts rubbing her clit across his mouth.

Prusty's eyelashes flutter. 

"Christ, he loves this," PK says into Maripier's ear, stroking her neck and kissing it, "you using him--"

Maripier wriggles her ass in answer, making Prusty moan underneath her and clutch at her hips--

PK strips his shirt and his pants, and crawls closer to her, kissing her as he slips a hand into her underwear--

Maripier says, “Taburnac de fuck--” as PK rubs her cunt lightly--

Prusty pushes Maripier's panties aside, licks into her, and Maripier mutters underneath her breath in Quebecois, gripping the headboard. PK holds her underwear in place for Prust, gets a dirty lick to his fingers for his efforts--

PK runs his other hand through Prusty's hair, making Prusty look up at him as he leans in and kisses Maripier, giving her some tongue. Prusty moans so loud Maripier rocks harder into his mouth, making Prusty's hand slip on her underwear--

“You're so hot, riding Prusty,” PK says, running a thumb over her nipples, “does he walk away with his face wet every night, he should, he looks fantastic right between your legs--”

PK runs a finger along Maripier's clit, making her shiver, her breasts trembling, and Prusty wiggles underneath her, spreading his legs--

“Have you ever bent him over, Mari? He's taking you so well now, I can see him loving you fucking him until he's red in the face, begging you to let him get off--”

Maripier tosses her head back, brushing her hair past PK's face, and PK runs his hand up Maripier's body, feeling her hips move across Prusty's face--

Prusty pulls back a little, pink suffusing his face, running his tongue along his lips, and looks up at PK--

PK slides his fingers into Maripier, making her buck--

“Fuck you,” she says, her accent a little stronger, “Get me off, boys--”

Prusty smirks, pushes in his finger along with PK's, and runs his tongue along PK's fingers and Maripier's cunt-- both Maripier and PK curse with overlapping _fucks_.

Maripier grinds down on PK's hand and Prusty's mouth, ruthlessly using them--

She pushes a hand into Prusty's hair, bites her lip, and comes, PK kissing her neck as she rocks on PK's fingers--

Maripier shudders beautifully, pushes Prusty's head away, and slides off, rolling on her side next to Prusty. Prusty's breathing like he double-shifted, his beard wet with Maripier's come. PK *really* appreciates the view.

Maripier props her head on her elbow, raises her eyebrows, says, “Boys, why don't you make out.”

She sounds *really* collected for someone who came just a few seconds ago, PK thinks, but it's probably a perk of being Maripier Morin.

Prusty licks at his lips, looks at PK, who's still kneeling on the bed, and puts his hands back behind his head. PK would roll his eyes, but makeouts. PK leans in, thumbing at the edge of Prusty's beard on his neck, and kisses him. Prusty responds back, hot and eager, with tongue--

Fuck, PK can taste Maripier, and smell her, fuck, and PK wants nothing more than to turn him over and fuck him--

PK smiles, bites at Prusty's pouty lip, and asks, “No hands?”

It isn't directed at Prusty.

PK can practically hear Maripier shrug as she says, “He knows what he can do. Don't worry.”

Prusty looks at Maripier, then back at PK, his hooded eyes not even concealing how hot Prusty must be finding this-- 

PK bites at Prusty's lip again, runs a hand through his hair, and pulls it--

Prusty's legs scrabble on the bed--

PK leans back, seeking Prusty blink in mild confusion, and puts his hands on Prusty's wrists.

“Is this ok for your shoulder?” PK asks, because the team would never let him hear the end of it if Prusty re-injured it during sex.

Prusty nods, settles into PK's grip. PK leans in, sticks out a little bit of his tongue, runs it across the bottom of Prusty's lip while watching Maripier out of the corner of his eye. Prusty squirms a little at PK's tongue. But seeing the way PK's looking at Maripier, Prusty tracks pretty quickly, if that smirk is anything to go by.

PK kisses Prusty for real this time. Prusty's not a smooth kisser-- he's sloppy-- but damn if he doesn't make you want to put that mouth to really good use--

PK pushes a leg in between Prusty's legs, feeling Prusty's hard-on, and rolls his hips a little--

Prusty makes a little noise into PK's mouth. PK pushes back, biting lightly at Prusty's neck, and Prusty *splays* his legs--

PK takes one hand off Prusty's wrists, slides it between Prusty's legs, his hand just on his cock--

“Fuck, PK, just do it,” Prusty says-- almost snarls, really. PK smirks, looks over at Maripier, his eyebrows raised in question.

Maripier levers herself up, and kisses PK-- a kiss that's got claws, that makes PK want to be whatever she's got in mind--

“Brandon's been *very* good,” she says, her smile arch, but she tilts her head back, adds, “Have you?”

PK runs his tongue underneath his eyetooth, “I'll leave that up to you.”

Right fucking answer, if the gleam in Maripier's eyes is anything to go by. She says, “How about he makes you come with that mouth of his--” she grins.

PK is fucking glad no one can ever see him blush. He may be less than casual when he says yes, but fuck, it's *Prusty's mouth*, the one that started it all.

PK lies on his back, next to Maripier, and Prusty smirks as he crawls in between PK's legs. Prusty nuzzles PK's thighs, his hands wandering towards PK's hips. PK looks back at Maripier, who's got two little spots high on her cheeks, and cranes up to kiss her.

Prusty, the bastard, takes the chance to move in on PK. He sucks at the head of PK's cock, making PK grip the sheets--

“Look at him, PK,” Maripier says, kissing where PK's teeth are embedded in his lip, “Look--”

PK tilts his head down, seeing Prusty bob his head between PK's thighs, Prusty's mouth hot and wet--

PK clenches his jaw, resists the urge to thrust up, to fuck Prusty's face--

Prusty looks up, his eyes bright, his tongue sinful--

PK shuts his eyes, slowly threads his hand through Prusty's hair--

Prusty squeezes PK's hips firmly, urging PK upwards.

PK slowly-- slowly-- rocks into Prusty's mouth, fascinated by the stretch of Prusty's mouth around his cock--

Maripier makes a delicious-sounding sigh, stroking a hand down PK's chest, pausing to tweak at his nipple-- 

and again-- and again--

Between Prusty running his tongue around the rim of PK's cock and Maripier torturing his nipple, PK feels ready to burst.

PK tries to pull at Prusty, feeling his own toes curl, that little tingle at the base of his spine setting his body on fire--

Prusty gives PK's cock a hard suck, before he pulls off, and strokes PK through his orgasm, white splattering on PK's stomach and Prusty's face--

Maripier rubs PK's come into his skin, pushing down on PK's shaking legs--

PK can barely breathe, let alone look at Prusty's eyelashes fanned on his cheeks, look at Maripier rub away a spot of come on Prusty's beard before she reels him in for a buss on the lips--

“Christ,” PK mutters, starting at them. So fucking hot.

Prust hears PK and smirks. He crawls over to PK, kissing him-- and fuck, PK can taste himself *and* Maripier--

PK kisses back, reaching down to stroke Prusty-- until Prusty stops him with a hand on PK's, pressing it against Prusty's cock--

PK feels a wet spot on Prusty's pants.

Prusty says, “Don't worry,” winks, “You two were more than enough.”

Maripier says something in Quebecois, something that makes Prust flush--

Maripier looks back at PK, winks like they're both in on a juicy secret.

 

* * *

 

“Holy shit,” Carey muttered, “Not what I would've imagined Prusty to be at all.” 

PK shrugged, “It was damn good for us.”

Carey leered, and kissed PK, “What about me? Would they do us?”

PK smirked, said, “You'd have to fight Maripier for the number one job.”

Carey shifted his weight on PK, pulled off his shirt, and leaned back.

PK took in Carey; you'd think Carey would've been lanky, but he wasn't, not really. PK folded an arm behind his head, and stroked his other hand up Carey's side, lingering on the medallion Carey had around his neck. Carey laid PK's hand out flat against his chest, gave it a squeeze before he forced it down to the bed.

They were both hard-- aching--

But Carey still said, “Tell me about fucking the Gallys.”

 

* * *

 

PK has eyes. Gally A's got that snark underneath that blond face, and Gally B's ass launched a thousand ships. What can he say, he has *types*. ( _Your type is everyone who's hot_.)  

*Anyway*, it is really the worst kept secret that the Gallys are fucking. 

The Gallys are loud in bed, but PK's getting ahead of himself. Gally B's version of keeping it quiet is biting his lips as Chuckie fucks him on road trips instead of yelling. 

All hotel walls are thin. 

What happens, then, as a result of Gally biting his lip during whatever sex act the boys are doing, is that Gally walks around with a mouth that's really red-- from teeth or blood-- and PK can just hear Chuckie breathe heavier every time Gally tongues at whatever cut he has on his lip. ( _He should get lipstick._ ) Ugh, that is the best idea. 

Anyway, PK has to pull Chuckie aside, tell him to quit being a possessive asshole-- ow, Pricey! -- and the look on Chuckie's face when PK tells him makes him very grateful Chuckie can't shoot laser beams from his eyes. 

PK has to put an arm around Chuckie in a half-nelson to calm him down so that PK can say the "secret" isn't going anywhere. And then of course, Gally-- the most annoying bastard on ice and off-- has to show up while PK's arm is around Chuckie.

And PK will swear up and down that Gally looked at his arm, and then at Chuckie's pants-- yes, Gally was looking there, PK gets paid to watch his opponents' eyes-- and then licks his lip *on purpose*. 

Gally's eyelids droop in the same way they do when Chuckie's hand wanders high up on his thigh after a few drinks. PK can feel Chuckie's cheeks flush warm, his hips squirming a little against PK's.  

“You going to let Chuckie breathe?” Gally asks, his perpetual smile a little shaky. PK pulls Chuckie closer to himself, smirks at Chuckie putting up only token resistance.

“Chuck, how about it?” PK asks, his breath brushing the tip of Chuckie's ear and making Chuckie squirm a little. 

Chuckie pushes PK's arm off him forcefully, his face bright red--“Don't. Call me Chuckie, *god*.” And stomps out of the hallway like the teenager he is.

Gally and PK both take a moment to watch Chuckie's behind for a beat, before Gally hooks his thumbs on his belt loops, leans against the wall and says, “The hell?”

PK presses his lips together, smirks, “You guys are as covert as a five-alarm fire.”

Gally blanches, thumping his head against the wall, “Please don't tell me you told Chuckie that.”

PK understands why Gally's protective-- it's not like people can go around on rooftops shouting how they like to get their action in this line of work.

“Nah, just to ease off on the heavy breathing and poisonous glares he likes sending anyone who looks in your direction. His Russian-Super-Spy status isn't besmirched.”

Gally mouths _besmirched_ , and face-palms himself. “Fucking Christ.”

PK shrugs, “You learn how to deal, eventually.”

Gally lights up-- swivels his neck-- asks, “Experience, Peeky?”

PK feels like it's now his turn to make like a tree and fucking leave-- not literally, he'd die if he had to play for Toronto-- but, yeah, it's time. He says, “Chuckie's learning. Like you.”

PK speeds out of there, leaving Gally to think.

Which, in retrospect, isn't the wisest thing to do. 

 

A thinking Gally is a dangerous Gally. 

 

By dinner, Gally's had enough time to bully both PK and Chuckie into accepting invitations over at “Gally's place”, which is just the Gorges' house.

Gally points to his bed, indicating both PK and Chuckie should sit on it. PK's amazed that Gally knows how to make his bed. And wishes that he had brought popcorn.

“Y'know what happened earlier--” Gally begins the first volley--

“Oh, when PK strangled me,” Chuckie says, looking like a wet, angry kitten as he plops back on the bed.

PK snorts, retorts, “I did *not* strangle you, that's a love hug--”

Chuckie mutters, “Hate to see your family hugging each other if that's the case--”

Gally puts his index fingers over both PK and Chuckie's mouths, “*Boys*”-- sounding way irritated-- “Chuckie, PK made a good point. You are...”

“Charming,” Chuckie tries.

PK does not roll his eyes. It's a close call, though. “Look, Chuckie, it's great that you two have a love-in going, but if you want to keep it on the QT, you have to be less... possessive.”

“QT?” asks Chuckie.

“QT?” asks Gally.

“Quiet time, did you guys even live in the 90s-- wait, don't tell me.”

Chuckie does a double-face-palm, his elbows up in the air. Even from this end PK can hear Chuckie forcing himself to breathe slowly and evenly. After an eternity, Chuckie tears his hands away from his face and says, “And you told me not to, quote un-fucking-quote, stare so much at Gally's mouth, even if he keeps destroying it.”

Gally's eyes sharpen-- PK has just enough time to think _shit_ \-- before Gally goes in for the kill, saying, “You noticed?”

PK bites the inside of his lip. He has two options-- deny, or say “yeah it's impossible not to notice.”

PK has to be the role model here, ok? So he goes, “Are you serious? You tongue your cuts like you wish you were putting them to better use, Gally. And you fucking know it.”

Gally turns brick red. Chuckie gives them his version of a shit-eating grin: his lips actually form a visible smile.

“So what if I am,” Gally says, “Sue me.”

“You're not American. Only Americans get to say that,” Chuckie says. Gally shoots an eyebrow at PK, who shrugs. PK's not in charge of American-Canadian relations.

Instead, PK sighs, “Look, just keep it behind closed doors.”

Gally looks at the door of his bedroom-- currently closed-- and *leers*. He's got a good leering face.

Chuckie's picking up what Gally's putting down, judging by the small beads of sweat at his temples and the-- heh-- action in his pants.

They both look at PK.

At the same time. Fuck.

A chill runs up PK's back, five minutes too late.

Gally-- fuck-- *flutters* his eyelashes and puts a hand on PK's forearm, squeezing just like it's PK's dick, says, “You said something about making sure Chuckie wasn't so possessive?”

Christ.

PK flicks his eyes over at Chuckie, who's doing his best imitation of a wooden block. PK scrubs his hand at the top of his head, eyeing Chuckie as he says, “It's--”

He's going to have to talk about feelings. PK grits his teeth and forges on, “About knowing you're going to come back, and that he--” PK nods towards Chuckie, “--is going to come back.”

Chuckie squirms. PK can relate.

Chuckie manages to say-- after a few beats-- “Well, yeah.”

Gally crosses his arms, mutters, “What? You know I'd be here.”

“You're a flirt. You just flirted with--” Chuckie stabs a finger in PK's shoulder, *ow*-- “Peeky!”

Gally rolls his eyes, “Just because *I* can appreciate good looks doesn't mean I don't appreciate *you*, Alex.”

Chuckie blinks.

“You want proof?” Gally shouts-- yanks PK in for a dry kiss on the mouth, and then reels Chuckie in for a kiss so dirty that PK feels as if he's walked into porn, with tongue and wandering hands-- “There!”

Chuckie may be still pulling himself out of the kiss, but his eyes blaze hard as he snarls, “You didn't kiss PK properly.”

Gally glares at Chuckie, “What, you want me to tongue-fuck him?”

PK has opinions-- many of them, even. They just don't compare to being fought over. He likes it. He likes it even more when Gally jumps on his lap and wraps his pale hands around PK's shoulders before going in for a hot kiss, Gally running his tongue over the bottom of PK's lip, his teeth tugging on PK's lip.

And *then* Gally tilts his head at Chuckie, grins, and says, “Would you call that a *proper kiss*, Alex?”

Chuckie gets the same look in his eyes that he gets every time he tries to fight dirty hockey players who just boarded Gally and-- kisses PK, all rough, enthusiastic, and *young*--

PK kisses back, trying to make it into less of a contest, showing him how to use his lips instead of his teeth--

Chuckie breaks away, hot and embarrassed. Gally weighs a fuckton on PK's lap, 170 pounds notwithstanding, and now doing *his* best imitation of a wooden block. PK cranes his head towards Gally, says quietly, “This is when you go to him,” and gives Gally a small nudge in Chuckie's direction.

Gally nods quickly and scrambles off PK's lap, landing firmly on Chuckie's torso, pulling Chuckie's arms towards him--

They both look at each other, with that weird Gally-squared connection they have--

And they both look at PK, *again*, this time with lusty grins on their faces.

Gally strips off his shirt, and kicks off his pants with obscene speed, kicking them across the room. Chuckie undresses a little slower, putting on a bit of a show, exposing skin inch by inch--

PK's mouth is dry. He licks at his lips--

Both Gallys' eyes dart towards PK's mouth.

PK pauses, lifts a corner of his mouth in a smirk, and slowly runs his tongue over his lips.

“Fuck,” Chuckie mutters, and pins PK to the mattress, rubbing his hips against PK's cock.

Gally leans over PK to mouth at Chuckie's neck, gripping Chuckie's shoulder like it's a lifesaver--

PK thumbs at Chuckie's ear, and gets a blush for his trouble. PK wriggles out of his clothes, basking in the appreciative-slash-envious looks both Gally and Chuckie throw his way, and lays back against the pillows. Gally kisses Chuckie, quick and easy, and then drapes himself over PK's thighs, and PK grins down at Gally, pressing against Gally's hands--

Chuckie places a thumb on PK's lip--

PK looks up-- through his eyelashes-- and smirks. Chuckie bites his own lip, leans in to kiss PK in the exact same way PK showed Chuckie--

PK reaches down to Chuckie's briefs, palms Chuckie's balls--

Chuckie groans into PK's mouth--

Gally squeezes PK's thigh, rocking against his other thigh-- fuck, Gally's leaving a wet smear on PK's leg--

PK breaks away from Chuckie's mouth, pulls Gally closer to him, kisses Gally as he runs a thumb along his neck.

Chuckie grips Gally's hand, and Gally smiles down at Chuckie like some sort of demented angel--

Chuckie looks at PK, a glint in his eyes--

PK blinks.

They've got him pinned down. Gally's on his legs, while Chuckie has his arms, whispering “Let us.” Before PK can ask 'let us *what*', Gally's tugging down his underwear, showing off his cock, shimmying a little for both Chuckie and PK's benefit. PK can feel Gally's cock against his thigh, infuriatingly close to his own, hot and wet--

Chuckie yanks off his own underwear with less shimmying, but skims his fingertips at the waistband of PK's boxer briefs, never even putting them *inside*.

Gally laves his upper lip with that fucking tongue of his, still nursing a cut from a mysterious high-stick, and smirks.

PK's both pissed-off and turned-on. It's rather like being hot and cold at the same time.

“Well?”PK challenges, “Are you just going to... model, or get the fuck on?”

Chuckie huffs a laugh into PK's shoulder, says, “Gally likes showing off."

Gally beams like this is a fact people should be proud of.

PK raises an eyebrow, says, “Oh?” looks at Gally, up and down, taking in the sex flush working its way down Gally's solid chest, leers, “Why don'tcha show off, then?”

Gally grins, not so wholesome, and slides his hand down from his neck down his chest, making sure to leave red marks from his nails as he goes--

Gally rocks his hips, lifting his weight from PK's leg, and palms his cock, stroking it lightly. He even throws in a dirty thrust every so often, swinging his pelvis.

“Fuck,” mutters Chuckie. PK agrees.

Gally looks at them from half-lidded eyes, his mouth red with saliva and blood pulsing underneath the surface, and says, “How about it, boys?”

PK looks over at Chuckie, who looks like he might be dying of sheer arousal, tilts his head towards Gally--

Both Chuckie and PK tackle Gally to the mattress, fitting themselves against the wall and the IKEA headboard.

Gally struggles-- and then gives it up as a bad job, his smile still on his face as he looks at PK and Chuckie. Chuckie grips Gally's wrists and kisses him. PK rubs at the head of Gally's cock, making him thump his heels loudly against the bed--

Chuckie clamps a hand over Gally's mouth, saying, “Shhh. Don't want people to hear us--” with a wicked smile.

PK gets the impulse to kiss Chuckie. So he does.

Gally thumps his head back against the headboard, huffs out against Chuckie's hand--

PK looks down at Gally, and smirks. A quiet Gally is a good Gally. PK pushes Gally's legs apart, and leans down to lick Gally's cock--

Thank fuck Chuckie's got a hand over Gally's mouth--

PK presses Gally's thighs to the mattress, sliding his tongue on Gally's cock, tasting Gally as Gally tries not to move and scream *too obviously*. Gally's quivering by the time PK moves down to Gally's balls, teasing at them as PK strokes a dry thumb against Gally's asshole--

A warm hand touches the cradle of PK's skull. PK looks up from between Gally's legs. It's Chuckie, obviously turned on by seeing Gally sweat and pink up under PK's mouth, and PK reels Chuckie down to kiss him, to kiss Gally's cock--

“MMMPF,” Gally says, biting on his forearm now that Chuckie's focusing on Gally's cock--

PK and Chuckie's lips meet at the head of Gally's cock, pre-come salty and *Gally*--

Gally thrusts his hips, his cock sliding between the conjunction of PK and Chuckie's lips. PK slides a hand up Gally's chest, resting at the base of his throat, his fingers resting on Gally's collarbone--

Chuckie's teasing at Gally's asshole with a wet finger, making Gally move faster between them, and Chuckie sucks at Gally's cock, his eyelashes forming flat blond arcs across his baby cheeks--

PK bites at Gally's hip, strokes at Gally's throat, feels the breaths Gally draw become shorter and shorter as he writhes under both PK and Chuckie--

PK pries Gally's mouth free from his arm, kisses him-- tastes copper-- and gently pushes Chuckie down Gally's cock--

Gally gasps into PK's mouth, comes with a very loud moan--

Chuckie drags himself off Gally, a spot of Gally's come on his lip as he smiles smugly at PK. PK wishes Chuckie had longer hair-- but contents himself with thumbing at Chuckie's jawline as PK diligently cleans Chuckie's mouth with his own.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Gally aspirates, taking in the sight of both PK and Chuckie. Chuckie smirks down at Gally, both of their cheeks a fetching shade of red, and PK wraps his hand around Chuckie's hip--

Chuckie bites his lip as he looks at PK--

PK gives an reassuring smile, says, “How do you want to do it?”

“Um.”

Gally pipes up-- unasked-- “Chuckie loves blowjobs--”

PK looks back at Chuckie, “Yeah?”

Chuckie looks straight into PK's eyes, obviously determined to bully his way through this, “Yeah.”

PK pushes Chuckie back down to the bed, and runs his thumbs over Chuckie's nipples. Chuckie does a little frozen thing--

“He hates to love that,” Gally says into PK's ear. PK smirks. He can work with that.

Chuckie picks up on things fast-- but not fast enough to escape Gally pressing his shoulders back to the mattress while PK licks at one of Chuckie's nipples, pinching the other--

Chuckie's quiet-- but that's because Gally's busy going to town on his mouth, being as rough on Chuckie's lips as he is on his own. PK goes back to teasing at Chuckie's nipples, scrapping teeth over them until PK sees redness just underneath Chuckie's skin--

PK strokes down Chuckie's stomach firmly, and takes in Chuckie's cock halfway easily, making Chuckie gasp against Gally's mouth. PK rubs at Chuckie's cock with his tongue, working the underside as he jacks Chuckie off with his other hand--

PK hears some sibilant, fluid phrases that have to be Chuckie cursing In whatever languages he has--

Chuckie rocks into PK's mouth--

PK sucks harder, skimming his hands all over Chuckie's thighs, making Chuckie work for it--

Chuckie comes without warning into PK's mouth.

PK presses his tongue against the head of Chuckie's cock in revenge, making Chuckie moan-- PK pulls off, and scrubs his tongue on Gally's bedsheets before he comes up to kiss Chuckie.

Chuckie's soft like this, almost cuddly, and leads with his lips instead of his teeth when kissing PK. Gally licks his lips, sending both of them heated looks--

Gally splays his fingers on PK's hips, squeezes them a little before he looks up at PK, his green eyes hot and dark. “Lie back, PK,” he says.

PK scoots around on the bed, making space for himself--

Chuckie springs up from his post-coital drowsiness and levels PK a laser-hot look. PK smiles.

“You fucking tease.” Chuckie's voice is flat.

“You came, didn't you?” PK says.

Chuckie doesn't blush, but that's because he's already got the sex flush going on. Instead he just kisses PK, mouth to neck to chest to cock--

Gally says in PK's ear, like some sort of midget devil, “Chuckie really's got cock-sucking down.”

PK closes his eyes-- partially to shut out Gally, partially to shut out the sight of *Chuckie* running a thumb up PK's cock--

“Taught him most of what I know,” Gally goes on, his teeth almost at PK's earlobe, PK's cock resting on Chuckie's tongue--

“Hope you like it,” Gally says, just as Chuckie slides his mouth along PK's cock, wet and making PK want to push both of them down and rut on them until he comes--

A firm hand-- Gally's-- guides PK's cock into Chuckie's mouth, as Chuckie's lips slowly go up and down on it, darting out his tongue at the right exact moment to infuriate PK.

PK grits his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate on the hot wetness of Chuckie, to ignore Gally groping the base of PK's cock--

Chuckie is good-- precise, steady-- and PK just wants to come, weakly twitching his hips towards Chuckie as Chuckie works towards going deeper, his throat almost fluttering at the head of PK's cock--

Gally scratches PK's chest, stinging stripes that only make Chuckie sucking him off even better-- 

PK forces out a sigh--

Gally notices, the devil, and does it again, right as PK's building a slow rocking motion into Chuckie's mouth--

Chuckie rubs his tongue at the head of PK's cock, while rolling PK's balls into the palm of his hand--

PK feels the tingle along his spine, along his chest, and forces out, “Chuckie--”

Chuckie presses harder, forcing PK's hips into the mattress--

PK comes, his body burning, and Chuckie pulls off slowly-- slowly enough that PK can see his bruised mouth.

PK mutters, “Fuck.”

Gally's reclining on his side, his head propped up on his arm, looking like a smug asshole. PK reaches over to Chuckie, runs a thumb on Chuckie's lip--

Chuckie nips at PK's thumb, tosses his head slightly with a small smile on his face.

“You good?” PK asks both of them. They both give him a look that translates to _duh we had hot sex_. PK raises an eyebrow, “Confirmation is good, guys.”

“Yeah,” Chuckie says, looking way more relaxed at this juncture.

Gally radiates smugness as he says, “Well, let's see, I guess so, yes.”

PK slides off the mattress, gathering his clothes, and raises his eyebrow, “Good times.”

“Mmmm,” Chuckie says, plopping back down on the bed. Gally pets Chuckie's buzzcut and watches PK put on his clothes.

PK may hum a little bit as he dresses and walks past a very confused Gorges.

 

* * *

 

Carey raised an eyebrow, “Teaching the kids your bad habits, eh?” 

PK flipped Carey over, with a little bit of effort-- in between blue balls and Carey being a stubborn dick, it wasn't easy-- and wriggled on Carey's thigh, “*Good*. Besides, now that they know they're being way too loud they can quit those moans.”

Carey leered, “I remember some good times with those moans.”

The entire Florida trip was a frenzied fuck with the Gallys sharing adjoining walls with Carey's room. PK kissed Carey, more teeth than lip, and quirked an eyebrow, “Do I have to tell you everything?”

Carey looked at PK with those dark eyes-- and fuck, PK always forgot how good Carey was at eye-fucking-- “Eller.”

“How In the hell did you know about Larry?”

“I have my ways,” Carey said, then a beat-- “Eller.”

 

* * *

 

Eller's a beast. A beast with large hands. PK's pretty into it.  No, nothing happened at the golf tournament, but seeing Eller wear those painted-on shorts? And taking such long strides his ass bounced? PK got some ideas. ( _You should've heard Angela after._ ) She has good taste, eh? 

But seriously, nothing happened at *the golf tournament*. Pay no attention to that picture of PK's hand spread out on Eller's shoulder, Eller's hand on PK's chin-- 

Eller doesn't relax much, so the sight of Eller flushed a light pink after a couple drinks makes PK think more than once about Eller's hands. The way Eller's looking at him, PK's sure Eller knows what's on his mind. He certainly shoots him a heated look that he normally saves for checking PK into the boards when PK's being even more of a smartass during practice.

Eller leans forward in the seat next to PK, clearly checking his sightlines out of the corner of his eyes before he says, “What's the deal with you and Pricer?”

PK blinks, recovers, “Pricer?” PK wishes he hadn't drained his beer; drinking would be a good escape from this conversation.

Eller shoots PK a flat smile, sharp about the edges, even though the beer makes the rest of Eller's face seem soft. “Stupid's not a good look on you, Peeky. Pricer.”

“We're friends.”

Eller raises his eyebrow, sets his can of beer on the table. “*Duh.* You defencemen and goalies have weird vibes, but there's something more, isn't there?”

PK leans away from Eller and his Macklemore hair and taps his fingers on the faux-distressed wood table. Says, 

“What are you driving at, Larry.”

Eller clasps a hand on PK's shoulder, tugs him closer, like he's going for a hug-- “You and Carey are fucking.”

PK wants to squirm away from Eller's grip, but instead smiles broadly, says, “Yeah?”

Eller's eyes narrow in-- what, pleasure?-- and says, “Bournival. The Gallys. And if I'm not mistaken-- Prusty? Although how you swung that, I don't know. Madame Morin doesn't seem willing to share.”

Eller almost sounds... longing. PK raises his eyebrows, “You *tried*?”

Eller rolls his eyes, “Of course I *tried*. It's Prusty.”

PK'll give him that. But as to how Eller finds this shit out-- PK shifts in his seat. He's got the feeling that if this conversation were a map, there would be a _Here Be Sharp Pointy Teeth_ really close to where they are now. PK rubs a hand on the table top, flicking away the condensation on the beer can. Puck's in his end of the ice now; it's his job to move the damn puck.

“I didn't know you were that interested in me, Larry.” Eller looks PK up and down in response and finishes his drink before he stands up. Eller looks down at PK, all Danish Viking, and smirks. 

PK's not above watching Eller leave the private room at the back of the bar. Still taking those long strides, apparently. PK's mobile vibrates, its screen saying _meet me upstairs_ _._ Upstairs, in this case, is one of those rooms that the bar has. Since when did PK's life become this?

PK makes his way up the narrow flight of stairs, feeling the adrenalin buzz in his limbs, and walks down the hallway until he sees a thin sliver of light underneath a door. PK pushes it open--

And gets pressed against the wall by Eller. Eller's fists are in PK's shirt, and PK looks down at Eller's large, pale hands, and then up into his eyes. They're close-- close enough that PK could kiss Eller, if he wanted to. Eller's eyes aren't icy. They're like the blue flames on a pilot light.

PK inhales. Slumps back against the wall; if Eller's going to mangle his shirt, PK's not going to make it easy for Eller. 

“I'm jealous,” Eller starts, his eyes flicking to PK's mouth-- then stops. PK tilts his head, thumbs his fly, and asks--

“Of what?”

Eller's forehead crinkles and he says, “How _easy_. It is.”

PK cackles, “This? No, you just have to really like joining the rush.”

Eller says, “The timing?”

PK shrugs, unbuttons the top of his pants, “Not that you would know, _Forward_.” Smirks. Even though Eller's defensive hockey isn't too bad. Eller's eyes flash--

Eller slides a hand under PK's shirt, rubbing a thumb over PK's nipples, and grinds his hips against PK-- “Is that supposed to mean something, _Defence?_ ”

PK grins and slides his hands down to grope Eller's ass. Eller's hand tightens on PK's chest, and PK leans up to nip at his neck. Eller curses-- or says something that seems like a curse-- and tugs PK's shirt off. PK slides his pants off, and undoes Eller's pants, snaps at the waistband of Eller's underwear. Eller twitches at the snap, and presses PK closer to the wall, his hands hot and tight on PK's shoulders--

PK squeezes Eller's forearms. And then turns, presses *him* against the wall. Eller quirks his lips at this development. PK runs a thumb down Eller's throat, digging in just a little, before he leans in and bite at Eller's jawline. Eller inhales sharply-- and then even sharper when he thumps his head against the drywall--

PK unbuttons Eller's shirt, pushes most of it over his arms, and rocks his cock against Eller's. Eller clenches his jaw, trying to move his hands out of the tangle mess his shirt is now in, and scrapes his teeth down PK's neck--

PK rocks harder, sliding his hand into Eller's underpants, palming at Eller's cock--

Eller twines a leg around one of PK's, slewfoots him so that *PK's* the one up against the wall. Eller smirks into PK's face, yanking a hand from his shirtcuffs and putting it against PK's hard-on. PK brushes his own hand against Eller's cock, making Eller shoot him a dirty look before he runs a thumb around the head of PK's cock.

PK rocks into Eller's hand, biting his lip as he watches Eller through half-closed eyes, jerking off Eller with an easy rhythm--

Eller's hand is rough, but so good-- 

PK rolls his hips, running his hand over Eller's ass while he slides his other hand on Eller's cock, splaying his thighs against Eller's. Eller thrusts up into PK's hand, biting back whatever he wants to say, resting his hand on PK's shoulder's instead. PK kisses the corner of Eller's mouth--

Eller's eyes widen, raises his hand and runs a thumb over PK's lips--

PK smirks against Eller's thumb, kisses Eller full on the lips as PK speeds up his strokes, feeling Eller's legs quiver against his--

Eller kisses back, slowly, as he slides his hand on PK's cock, his fingertips a cruel tease. 

“Fuck,” PK mutters--

Eller smirks at *him*-- and then kneels down-- his mouth hot on PK's cock--

PK wants to run his hands through Eller's hair; doesn't. Eller looks up at him, and the heat of his look makes PK shiver-- or is it Eller's tongue rubbing on the underside of PK's cock? Eller's more than willing to pin PK's hips to the wall with his large hands, as he works PK higher, faster--

Eller's thumbs rubs the skin just underneath PK's ass in the exact same rhythm, making PK sweat, think about fucking Eller harder--

Eller's eyelashes are too light to see against his skin, but PK can feel them when he rests a hand on Eller's cheek and Eller flutters his eyelashes. PK urges Eller off, pulls him up to give him a ruthless stroke or two on his cock, and Eller rocks back so easily, like he's just a few ticks away from becoming liquid--

PK presses Eller gently against the wall again, speeding up his strokes, thumbing at the head of Eller's cock, seeing Eller finally flush pink--

Eller flexes his abdomen, and comes all over PK's hand, his hips thrusting weakly. PK smiles down at Eller, uses Eller's come to stroke himself off--

It doesn't take long. Eller leaning against the wall, looking *wrecked*, *shaken*, does it for PK. What really does it is Eller licking at his lower lip, blinking away his lassitude--

PK comes against Eller's abs, and he leans against Eller as he works himself through his orgasm--

They both pant, kinda foolishly, and hold each other upright as PK tries to gather his wits. Eller pries PK off with a smile on his face. 

“Thanks for coming on *me*,” Eller tries to complain, but he's in a too good of a mood. PK smirks, tosses Eller a handkerchief lurking around in the back of his pocket. Eller blinks-- probably at the idea of PK having handkerchiefs-- but accepts it and scrubs as much as possible at his abdomen.

PK makes sure to lean down right in front of Eller as he picks up his shirt from the floor. PK turns around to see Eller laying an intense look on him-- almost Carey-level intense-- and PK smirks. Eller says, “How does Carey stand it?”

“Stand what?” PK asks.

“Your constant cockteasing.”

PK smiles, taking in poor Eller's now-frustrated face, “Carey expects payoffs. He gets it. *Eventually*.” 

Eller snorts, and buttons up himself into a semi-decent state. 

*

PK leaned back, away from Carey's ear, and looked down at Carey's face. PK could see small beads of sweat at Carey's temples, creases in the sheets from Carey's fingers, and the intense stare he was giving PK. PK rocked against him, his hard-on rubbing against the front of Carey's underwear, which was almost soaked. Carey gripped PK's hands, his palms hot on PK's skin, and pulled himself up against the hotel headboard. 

“Hell of a quarter, PK,” Carey said, his smile sharp and wicked. PK smirked, and let himself be pulled in by Carey's hands, and kissed Carey. Carey slid his hands down PK's back, leaving small scratches down it, and rubbed at the line of PK's ass, making PK wriggle into Carey's hands. PK slid down Carey's thighs, easing Carey out of his underwear. Carey licked at his lips, and slid a thumb over PK's asshole, making PK lean into Carey's hand.

“You know where the good stuff is, don't you?” Carey asked, his voice quiet as he slowly ran his thumb over PK's ass again. PK rolled half-off Carey and yanked the bedside drawer open, pulling out condoms and lube. Carey ran his hand over PK's groin, making PK twitch and almost drop the lube. PK mock-glared at Carey, who just smirked back and gave PK's ass another squeeze. Carey took the lube from PK's hand, snapped open the top with a flick of his thumb, and put some on his fingers. PK watched this-- he'd seen this too many times to count-- but it never lost that *expectation*.

Carey leered, and circled PK's hole with his lubed fingers so slowly, making PK want to knock his hand aside and do it his-fucking-self, christ--

Carey said, “Are you going to stay still.” Talking like it was nothing, like none of them had ever jerked off to this-- 

PK narrowed his eyes, rocking against Carey's fingertips, and ran his tongue over his teeth before he said, “What do I get if I stay still?”

Carey made a noise that could be mistaken for a snort in another person, and gripped PK's hip with his free hand, pulling him flush against Carey's finger. The look Carey sent PK pretty much said, _don't be stupid, you know you want this_. Carey worked another finger into PK, stroking in and fucking teasing PK, and said, “I'm jealous, Peeky.”

Punctuated the statement by pressing on PK's prostate, making PK close his eyes, and scratch down PK's thigh--

“Fucking your teammates, seducing *kids*--” Carey said, his voice almost sneering, even as he ran a hand down PK's pecs, fingerfucking PK in earnest, making PK feel like he was on display--

Carey worked another finger into PK, hot and tight, and pulled at PK's nipple with his teeth. PK ran a hand through Carey's hair, and Carey looked up at him before deliberately biting his nipple, less than gently, and running his tongue over PK's chest-- 

PK pressed down against Carey's fingers, fucking himself on them, ran his hands down Carey's shoulders, using them as leverage to speed up--

Carey pushed PK's legs wider apart, slapping both thighs, and made PK kiss him. PK broke off the kiss, and stroked his dick with intent, looking down at Carey, grinned. Carey's eyes had that dangerous look to them, made PK want to be reckless--

Carey pulled his fingers slowly out of PK, and pressed a condom into PK's hand, said, “Put it on me--” 

PK heard the happiness in Carey's voice, smiled in response, and rolled the condom on without the showiness he usually went with--

Carey leaned further back against the headboard, his cock upright, and urged PK on. PK knelled on the bed, feeling faint twinges as he slid on Carey's cock, and pressed down, rolling his hips--

Carey's thighs twitched underneath PK's, and PK rolled his hips again, making Carey close his eyes and bite his lip--

Carey thrust up into PK, hard, and PK pushed back, squeezing around Carey's cock. Carey opened his eyes, gripped PK's hips, and PK smirked, knowing Carey could, *would* leave bruises on PK, like soft spots on an apple. Carey flexed, making PK ride him him, urging PK on with his hands on PK's hips, sliding PK on his cock--

PK tossed his head back, jerked himself quickly, bouncing on Carey, tugging on his nipple--

Carey thudded his head against the headboard, rocked into PK insistently, nailing PK's prostate. PK felt like he was going in two different directions at once, tingling with electricity. Carey whispered, “God, look at you, you slut, you love this, you're--”

PK's ears didn't take in much more. PK came, his orgasm jerky like it was being *pulled* out of him--

Carey's teeth were sharp against PK's neck, rocking faster into him. PK wanted to grip this, wanted to ride Carey--

Carey's hands skittered on PK's hips, and PK could hear Carey moan under his breath as he came. PK rocked against him, a slow tease, and Carey clenched his jaw. PK held Carey's head, kissed his throat, and said, “You love this too.”

Carey smiled, kissed PK's hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: sex under alcoholic influence, and it's not made clear how much each of the parties involved had; implied power dynamics; someone gets off on jealously
> 
> My [tumblr](http://hastybooks.tumblr.com)!


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